“That was the strangest thing,” Phaedrus murmured as the crowd slowly subsided. “Do you think Father had heard one of those before?”
“He knew what it was,” I said. “He knew Athene made it. He must have.”
“I’ve never heard any music remotely like it,” Phaedrus said, more loudly.
One of the women nearby leaned over, breaching the space between the two of us and the rest of the crowd. “Myxolydian, that was, and it’s a syrinx,” she said, helpfully. “It is different when you’re used to calm Platonic music.”
It certainly was.
The judges were disputing and couldn’t seem to come to an agreement. I could see hands being waved. Erinna was shaking her head. Klymene was frowning hard. One of the strangers was pointing at the crowd, and Aristomache was looking reproving. “Who do you think will win?” I asked the woman who had explained about the Myxolydian.
She was a middle-aged woman, and she had two children sitting with her. I couldn’t tell whether she was one of the Children or one of the rescued locals. “It’s terribly hard for the judges,” she said, “because they’re condemning one of them to death, and there’s no getting away from that after that exchange at the beginning. I’m glad I wasn’t chosen. They’re judging between such very different things. Matthias has been winning all the musical competitions here for years. Everyone loves the syrinx. Once you have a syrinx and a drum and somebody with a low voice singing, you can have wonderful dancing after dark. But what Pytheas sang—who could vote against that?”
“Do you know my father?” It was something about the familiar way she said his name that made me ask.
“Oh yes. I’m Auge. I used to share a sleeping house with your mother. She was doing agape with Pytheas even back then.”
I didn’t want to break the news about Mother’s death to another of her old friends. “You’re the sculptor? I love your work. The statue in the harbor in Marissa especially.”
She blushed. I introduced her to Phaedrus, and she introduced me to her children, a boy of fourteen and a girl of twelve. The judges were still arguing. She introduced me to a few more of the people in the crowd, and insisted on sharing her picnic with us—cold lamb and cucumber yoghurt rolled in flatbread, delicious. I hadn’t thought I’d be able to eat while Father’s life hung in the balance, but once I smelled it I was ravenous. “I think they’ll call it a draw,” Auge said. “What else can they do? Then everyone will have to be satisfied.”
The judges were still arguing when we finished eating. “What do you usually use this colosseum for?” Phaedrus asked.
Auge looked uncomfortable. “Competitions. Drama. Animal fights. Gladiator fights. There are a number of Romans among us. They suggested it. And the locals we recruited enjoy things like that.”
“We have drama in the City now,” I said. “And some of us went to an animal fight in Marissa.”
“And of course we hold assembly here, and we also use it for punishments and executions,” Auge said.
Phaedrus looked at the wooden post. “So your punishments are public?”
Auge nodded. “As for drama, we’ve often wished we’d brought copies of plays when we left. That’s something we’d be very keen to trade for. How did you start allowing performances?” Phaedrus started telling her about the vote that allowed drama.
The shadows were growing long when Aristomache stood up again.
“We want to hear you both again before we come to a decision,” she said.
“The same work, or something else?” Kebes asked.
“The same original composition,” she said. She gestured to Father. He had been standing quite still and expressionless all this time, though Kebes had been exchanging sallies with people in the crowd. Now he smiled, still calm and perfect but deadly. He swung his cloak deliberately so that it draped from the other shoulder. Then he picked up the lyre and turned it carefully upside-down. He then began to play, the same complex tune as before, perfect, even though all the strings were in the opposite places, and he was using his left hand. He sang again, lifting up his voice and filling the space.
Kebes sat stunned for a moment, then roared to his feet. “This is blatant cheating!”
Aristomache raised a hand to cut him off. Father had not missed a note. He raised an eyebrow, and she nodded to him to continue. He played the upside-down lyre, left-handed, through all the complexities of the song, flawlessly, just as if it were the natural way. This time there was perfect silence as the last note died away.
“It’s not against the rules of a musical competition to make things more difficult for yourself,” Aristomache said, answering Kebes.
“Nobody expects you to do as well,” Father said, smoothly. “Your instrument isn’t made for it.”
But Kebes for the first time looked uncertain. He guessed that if he played as he had before, the judges would find for Father, who had done something more difficult. He frowned hard and turned the syrinx over. Of course he shouldn’t have tried. It wasn’t meant to be played that way, and he hadn’t practiced, which Father certainly must have. Kebes blew, but what came out wasn’t the same rippling hypnotic music as before but a discordant babble. The crowd laughed, with an uncomfortable edge. Kebes righted his instrument and played as he had the first time. But he didn’t have the same confidence, and without the energy of the crowd the Myxolydian music felt hollow.
There was no doubt what the judges were going to decide. They didn’t take long in their deliberations this time. Aristomache stood. “We have a majority,” she said. “We will each give our votes. I vote for Pytheas.”
“Pytheas,” Erinna said.
“Pytheas,” Ficino echoed.
“Matthias,” Klymene said, staring straight in front of her and not meeting anyone’s eyes.
“Pytheas,” Neleus said, very firmly.
“Pytheas,” Nikias said, in the same tone.
“Matthias,” Sabina said.
“Pytheas,” said Alexandra.
“Matthias,” concluded Erektheus.
“That’s six for Pytheas and three for Matthias, so Pytheas has won. But I beg you Pytheas, be merciful.”
And as she spoke that word, Kebes shouted “Fix!” He grabbed a sharp knife from the collection on the ground and rushed at Father. But I hardly noticed, because throughout the crowd people were drawing weapons and attacking those of us from the Excellence. It was what Erinna and Maecenas had predicted. The whole colosseum erupted into chaos.
21
ARETE
The shape of the colosseum, the steps where people were sitting and the clear aisles for moving about, were on our side. The preparation and the weapons were all on the other side. Kebes’s people had been ready and planning angles of attack, picking out victims in advance. It all seemed to happen in a split second.
Phaedrus drew his knife. I had no weapon. Auge leaped to her feet, scowling, and I shrank away, but she was bellowing “Is this what we call guest friendship?” She took a hammer from her belt and knocked away a blade that was coming for me. She thrust me down toward her children, who were clinging together and cowering under the step. “Stop this at once!” she bellowed. “These are friends. There are children here. Are we savages?”
Father and Kebes seemed to be wrestling by the wooden pole. A woman was lying dead at Phaedrus’s feet. There was shouting everywhere, a cacophonous din that roared in my ears. I looked around. There was fighting here and there in the crowd, but no more near me, where people seemed to have listened to Auge and were looking ashamed of themselves. The man who had attacked me was backing away, sheathing his sword. But on the other side of the colosseum I could see a group of people with blades charging down the clear aisle toward the stage, making for the place where the judges were sitting. Without thinking I leaped down toward them—it began as a leap and ended as a flight, or I would have smashed to the sand.